


Fugue

by agelade



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Enemies to Friends, Gen, Mental Illness, Physical Violation, Post 5x14 AU, Warning: The Doctor, fitzdaisy brotp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 15:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14428794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agelade/pseuds/agelade
Summary: Daisy's got her powers back, in the worst way possible. Fitz is coming to terms with his time in the Framework, in the worst way possible. But more importantly, the world is super close to ending and Coulson's voluntarily been kidnapped by Hale. When Coulson finds a very surprising ally in Hale's stronghold, his voluntary kidnapping becomes a hasty escape.Post 5x14, AU from there; still deals with Destroyer of Worlds stuff and all that. Just... a different way it could have gone.





	Fugue

They show that they love him by visiting, they show that they loathe him by visiting. They need him, he knows, they need him and always need him, his brain even broken is a tool they require, and he’s going to give it to them, otherwise what was the point of breaking it all and what was the point of being broken if they can’t use it? What was the point of saving them if they all die anyway?

Jemma comes, of course she comes. She has words for him, lots. Comfort, a balm. They’ll figure this all out. She’s been round to speak to everyone, they’ll come to see what has happened, they can’t blame you for an illness--

She has started to talk right over him when he stops her right there.  _I did those things. That was me, not some illness._ She talks right over him, she talks about clinical studies, she asks for symptoms, she asks:  _are you seeing him right now?_

No. No, he’s not  _seeing him._ But he feels him, under his skin, inside his bones, lingering in the stretch of his tendons as he once strained to pull the leeching strands of an alien device from the neck of his best friend. He feels that if he focuses hard enough, he can sometimes feel the other one steadying his shaking hands, sense him waiting. Can feel the anger bubbling through effervescent, incandescent, phosphoric in its elemental heat, to burn him away the moment he has the chance--

“Fitz?”

_Is he? Is he Fitz?_

“Fitz,” she says again, concerned now. And she says “Where did you go just now?” the way she has a dozen times when he’s gotten lost in his own --  _processing_. But it’s not playful now, no  _poor silly Fitz_ , just dread, fear, that he’s lost again. That something else is wearing his skin.

“Here. I’m here,” he says. He’s got to remain here, for a little bit at least.

She looks him over with her critical eye. “I’m going to have someone bring you something to eat. And you  _will_ eat it this time.”

He sits on the cot, doesn’t meet her gaze. Nods. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

He awakes, but is not sure he awakes, to conversation on the other side of the detention wall, where Jemma has pulled a little table.

“Yes, and that’s why, you see, when they all got abducted and put into the Framework-- Ah, the Framework is a kind of virtual reality program--”

“I know what the Framework is,” Deke says.

Fitz still hasn’t opened his eyes, but now he wants to try to pretend to still be sleeping. He does not want to talk to Deke, least of all about the Framework or, what he assumes Jemma is explaining to him -- just what happened in that room with Daisy.

“You do?” Jemma says.

“Yeah. I... I was running something based on it at the Lighthouse. Uh, I had to program some of it myself, like  _most_ of it myself, but yeah--”

“But Deke, that’s amazing!”

“Well, I mean, I guess it actually makes a whole lot of sense now, if you think about it--”

They’re talking over each other now, strangely excited, but all Fitz can think is  _no nononono--_

“You did  _what?_ ” he slurs, completely underestimating how long it would take his body to come back to life after-- “Why am I -- oh, my head-- Did I-did I--” He rolls himself over in an attempt to swing out of bed, ends up half on the floor, holding his head in his hands.

Jemma is at the containment door in an instant and in another has alighted next to him on the cot, helps him sit up. Presses painkillers into his hand and says in a hush, “You asked me to knock you out. Don’t you remember?”

Fitz feels his face whiten, cold ash-- “Uh, y-yeah of course I do, I--”

“Nevermind,” she says, gives him a little treat of a smile. “A teensy bit of retrograde amnesia after the sedative I gave you is common. You’ve probably just forgot the couple of minutes right before you fell asleep.”

Fitz nods. She’s not wrong. She can’t be wrong. She’d be able to  _tell_. Wouldn’t she? If he wasn’t himself? He swallows, looks out at Deke who is staring at him like he’s a puzzle, like he’s putting pieces together. “Wh-what were you -- why were you talking about the...” And he’s aware that the last three words were breath only.

She doesn’t point it out or look at him with pity. Instead, she smiles soft and looks out at Deke. “He wanted to know what happened. Not just what he saw in that room, but ... about you.” She looks back at Fitz, little shake of her head. “How something like..  _this_ could happen.”

“So he knows...”

“About the bottom of the ocean. And about the Doctor.”

Fitz feels himself speed up, heart, mind. “That’s not-- You shouldn’t have--”

She pats his shaking hands.  _Still_ shaking hands. Grim little press of lips there, what does  _that_ mean, and she makes as if to leave him again, stands. “He came to see you, you were asleep. I think I’ll leave you two alone. To talk.”

To  _talk_? Fitz watches her dumbfounded as she leaves. As she waves Deke into the room to take up her place. Deke who just looks floored, like some kind of desperate seal, head barely above water, turning to look after her as if to say,  _is this safe? Is he safe?_

But Jemma only closes the door behind Deke, to give them privacy, smiles reassuringly at Fitz and nods, and then she is gone.

Deke doesn’t sit on the bed. He must sense that he’s not entirely welcome here. This stranger who sold Daisy -- well, Fitz isn’t allowed to have an opinion on that anymore, is he. Still.

“What?”

Deke looks at him, wide in the eye, slack in the jaw. “What what?”

“What. Did you want to talk about.”

“Uh... You know what, now’s not a great time, I can see that, I’ll just show myself out -- Jemma-!”

“Stop,” Fitz says with a sigh. He shifts back on the cot, up against the wall at the head of it, draws his feet up. “Just say what you came here to say.”

Deke turns back to him, kicked puppy or some such, casting around for a place to sit and good luck finding a -- no, no, uh --

Deke sits on the foot end of the cot, completely oblivious to Fitz’ astonishment. “Uhm. I just. Uh, wanted to see how you were doing. I guess. I--”

“Why do you know about the framework?”

Deke raises his brows. “Jemma just--”

“No-- You said you already knew about it. How?”

Deke looks lost. “I -- Where I’m from, in the- the future--”

“I remember.”

“Right. Uh, I had a version of it set up. Running... well,  _this_. Well, not  _this_ exactly,” he adds, gesturing to the bleak detention cell around them. “But you know,  _earth_. I didn’t get everything exactly right, but...” He bobs his head side to side, obviously proud of himself.

“A version of it. From where?”

“From...” Deke takes a deep breath.

Fitz frowns. “ _Where_?”

“My family’s stuff. I got it from my family’s like, inherited stuff.”

Fitz feels it again, the feeling of walking backward off a cliff, the sensation of a loss of gravity. “There’s a fragment of the framework somewhere? There’s a ... there’s someone maintaining it right now? No, no, that can’t--”

“Whoa, whoa.” Deke is close to him before Fitz can get his bearings, close to him and holding him up by the collar and patting him on the shoulder and shaking his head. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I know what happened now. I mean, I  _think_ I do. I got it from you, okay? I got it from you. Everything’s fine.”

“From me? I don’t have anything-- I wouldn’t--”

“Yeah, that’s pretty obvious.” Deke sits back, lets Fitz breathe, thank  _god_ , and says, “Jemma told me everything that happened. It sounds... Well, it sounds like it sucked.”

Fitz loose, unconnected, nods.

“Hey, you with me?”

“Yeah.” Yeah, he is. Collects himself. “Yeah, I’m not -- just a headache. Why--”

“Jemma told me to keep an eye on... well, you. If you start feeling... you know--”

“I’m not. But. There can’t be remnants of the framework just floating out there. It’s not safe--”

“The fragment I got was inert, unplugged. No data, no nothing. Okay? And it...” Deke looks off through the plexi windows, considering, twisting his mouth around, annoying. “It came from you. I get it now. I don’t know what happens between this moment and when I got it, er get it, in the future, but at some point, you find this fragment and you make sure it’s the only thing like it in the entire world, and you keep it. I don’t know why. If what Jemma said is true--”

“Everything she said about me is true--”

“Someone has a big head,” Deke says grinning dumb lopsided. “She talks about you like you’d cross the universe for her.”

Fitz frowns a little. “What?”

“Just a little saying my mom used to -- Look, what I’m trying to say is. You’re the reason I know anything about the framework.”

Fitz is lost, shakes his head. “What?” he says again, feeling slow.

“My  _grandfather_ invented it.” Deke is pleading with him now to understand something, and he does, it comes like a train, slow but heavy and of course it couldn’t have gone any other way, could it have?

“I’m your...” Fitz finds himself nodding. He can’t deal with that part yet. He needs to deal with-- “Why would I pass on the framework, any part of the framework. It was, I didn’t--”

“Look, I don’t know. But I’m damned glad you did. You saw the Lighthouse, you saw how we lived. I’m telling you, what I created-- what  _we_ created, it saved lives. Coming to my establishment, spending a couple of hours in fresh air, sun above us. Do you have any idea what it was like to just... walk down the street and pick up a paper? Go have a beer at the bar? Can you even imagine what that would feel like after an entire lifetime spent underground? That  _place_? Saved so many people, gave ‘em something to look forward to.”

The pleading eyes, he looks just like Jemma when she needs him --  _needs_ him to understand her, desperately. Fitz nods, he’s never been able to refuse her, and now--

“She said you built it to save lives, and I’m telling you. It did.”

“Okay.” Fitz is losing ground. This is his --  _Deke_ is his -- but that means-- “You never met us?”

Deke shakes his head. “They killed all the smart people first. And I guess you guys were at the top of the list. Mom talked about you, but she never said your names. I guess she was trying to protect us from your fate.”

It’s strange and surreal to hear about his own death.

“Your m...”

“Mom. Yeah.” Deke smiles, just a little.

Again, he recognizes Jemma here in this man, and thinking back, recognizes her over and over, the constant inquisitiveness, in never-ending wonder of the world around her. He can’t help but wonder - “Was she -- how was she? Was she... good to you? Did I... How was she?”

Deke tilts his head through this string of nonsense -- it was nonsense, he couldn’t get the words out or even wrap his mind around what has happened now. The Doctor, now so close all the time, roiling and boiling in him and he was supposed to raise a  _child_?

But Deke might have gotten some insight from Jemma, because after a moment he susses out what Fitz is trying to ask, and he smiles so warm and his eyes glitter with wet and he says, “You did fine. She loved you. She loved you and she admired you so much.”

Fitz wants to hang on this, wants to give Deke this and smile with him and have that hope, but all he can think is, and all he can say is, in a breath, eyes wet for an entirely different reason:

“I loved and admired my father too.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m not allowed to be in here,” Daisy says, standing like she very much doesn’t care who sees her in his cell, and like she very much wants him to give her a reason to throw him across the room again. “Simmons pulled rank.”

Fitz doesn’t get up from the bed, shrugs. “Makes sense. She’s the closest thing we have to a medical officer, which means she outranks you when it comes to--”

Daisy advances, just a step, but it’s enough to cut him off and make him shrink back where he sits. She smiles but it’s not pleasant, it’s not even self-satisfied. It’s sad and it’s disappointed and it’s frightened, of him, of herself. “You’re so not even worth it,” she mutters.

“So then what are you doing here?” Fitz is tired. He’s pushing it, pushing her like this. Whatever.

“I want you to tell me why.”

“We’ve been over this--”

“I want you to look me in the eye and tell me how you could--”

“I can’t!” He’s on his feet. “I can’t tell you any more than I’ve already told you. You want to hear it again, how I planned it all, how I so viciously--”

“I want to hear you say that you don’t remember doing any of it! I want you to give me one more ridiculous excuse!”

Fitz is breathing hard, weaving where he stands, unwilling to give her what she wants, a reason to take her anger out on him, but she doesn’t need one, he knows. She’s angry and hurt and  _harmed_ and he did it, and he’s scared, not only of her but of himself, and he turns from her, just a bit, shakes his head instead of giving her what she’s asking for. “No.”

She huffs out a breath. “Pathetic.”

Fitz closes his eyes. The Doctor’s voice echoes brightly round his head,  _pathetic and weak_ , and Daisy is saying “I keep telling Simmons, when someone tells you who they are, believe them. You’re just a coward--”  _A weak mewling coward who_ “--even  _hope_ to protect anyone, to protect Simmons, when deep down inside you’re--”

“Jemma?” he says, through the chorus. “Has something happened?”

“Yeah--”  _His heart speeds--_ “Some lunatic psycho made a robot point a  _gun_ at her!”

Time slows in spite of how fast his heart is beating, how fast his thoughts converge at a point.  _Can’t even keep her safe from yourself._ Fitz shakes his head as he stares at Daisy, blinks hard, his head, ugh. He remembers Jemma’s voice, the fear in it as she said  _you would point a gun at me_ and brings a shaking hand to his temple.

“Oh, what now.” Daisy’s frustrated, she’s advancing on him, and from just behind her, he hears a familiar voice:

“Careful. You don’t want to poke this bear.”

And there he is, there he is, with his polish and the shine on him, tilting his head at Fitz like he’s identifying an insect. Fitz stares, falls backward against the bed as the Doctor advances past Daisy toward him, he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and says, “No, no, not this,” and then the Doctor has turned and is addressing Daisy, chin up, easy look, appraising.

He peers at her neck. “You ought to let me take a look at that,” he says softly. At her disgusted look, he tsks. “Ah well. Don’t come crying to me--”

From the floor, Fitz is panicked at what the D-doctor, at what  _he_ might do, here where he’s supposed to be on lockdown, where people are supposed to be safe from him.  “L-leave her alone!”

The Doctor turns, just slightly. “Stay out of this.” He turns back to Daisy. “As I was saying, I’m something of an expert.”

“Shut up,” Daisy says, following his gaze toward Fitz and then looking back again at the Doctor. She doesn’t seem to see him, she doesn’t, of course, because, it’s so real and visceral but of course, of course, it’s  _not real_ \-- his  _head_ he feels so dizzy, but the Doctor takes a step toward her, cautiously like she’s a wild animal, but  _he’s the wild animal_ and he says low, quiet,  _mild_ :

“I can help you with that anger.”

Fitz, watching, says, “Don’t you touch her,” Fitz, watching, shouts, _“Don’t!”_ just as Daisy unfurls a hand.

The Doctor goes flying and the world falls backward away from Fitz on the floor, whirls away from him for a moment before his head and back strike the wall behind him and he is held there, he’s struggling to breathe and there are tears down his face and he’s staring at Daisy in horror, and a moment later, there are voices down the hall rushing toward them, Jemma loudest of all of them, and he’s sliding down the wall to the floor boneless, and Daisy is staring down at him, but it’s not anger on her face.

It’s fear, it’s something like understanding, it’s anguish. She says  _I’m sorry_ just once before Mack pulls her out of the room. Fitz’ eyes are still on her even as Jemma is manhandling him. Daisy’s looking back at him the whole time she’s being dragged away, something new and fearful in her face.

“Are you all right?” Jemma asks him. He looks at her vacantly, getting his bearings, the disconnect of having been on the floor next to the bed just moments before, the neural short somewhere in his temporal lobe, he shakes his head, regrets that a lot.

“No.” His hands shake. His gravity is uncertain. “I’m not.”

 

* * *

 

Jemma finds her in the control room, finds her tapping away on her keyboard as though nothing’s wrong, as though nothing has happened. There’s no one else present, there’s no one else who has found it wise to be in Jemma’s path at the moment.

“Daisy.”

Daisy stops typing, doesn’t look up at her. “I know you told me to stay away--”

“You are to be no closer than twenty feet from him at all times. If a situation arises where you must work with him in any capacity, I will be present. I don’t care if Coulson put you in charge, I am--”

“The ranking medical officer, I know. I’ve seen Star Trek.”

“You will not make light of this.” Jemma steps into Daisy’s field of vision, she will not be ignored. “You, of all people, know what he and I have fought through to get to where we are. Fitz didn’t get the benefit of some miracle alien serum to heal, he had to do it himself, and he’s still doing it. You can’t--” Daisy turns away from Jemma, Jemma takes her by the arm to redirect her attention, and Daisy’s hand comes up, all anger and fear.

Jemma lets go Daisy’s arm but does not step back, does not even flinch. “Is this how we are to expect you to lead us?” she asks, not unkindly. “All disagreements will be met with a sound thrashing?”

“No,” Daisy says, lowering her hand. She licks her lips, she looks to see if they were alone. “No, of course not.”

“I know what it sounds like,” Jemma says, standing tall and straight. “Like I’m protecting him, like I’m here as his wife. But I’m here as his doctor. And just as I counseled  _you_ to stay in bed for at least two days so that I could assess any neurological damage  _and_ to refrain from using your abilities for at least a week, I must insist on Fitz’s treatment as well. You can wreck your own recovery if you like, but I will not let you delay his.”

Daisy slumps in her chair. There’s guilt there, not a little. It isn’t fair; the bandage on her neck is stark and white, the fear in her eyes when Jemma clutched at her arm was real. Fitz’ betrayal is probably worse even than Ward’s, though Ward had killed people and helped topple their organization. Fitz was her  _brother_.

“I know you’re suffering, I know that it makes you sick to look at him. By all means, you should be as angry as you want. But  _my_ priority is to help a member of our team heal from a terrible trauma--”

“Since when is this about  _his_ trauma?”

“Since he drowned himself to save me and never fully healed from it. Since he was kidnapped by an evil robot and--”

“You’ve heard him, Jemma! He’s been trying to tell you that this is just him--”

“It’s understandable that he would say that. The framework--”

“It messed with everyone. You don’t see May running around in Hydra-issue green.”

“It’s not that simple for him, Daisy. He’s only told me maybe a quarter of what happened in there, and it’s not my story to tell, but trust me.”

“If he wants me to understand, he’s going to have to spill--”

“He won’t. That would sound like an excuse for his actions, and he won’t ask for your forgiveness.”

Daisy looks off, obviously annoyed. 

Jemma sits in Fitz’ chair, leans into Daisy’s space, lifts her hand to show she’s friendly before placing it on Daisy’s knee. “Fitz’ mind is fragile right now. A blow to the head could exacerbate the issue, and would certainly prolong the healing process. And encouraging the Doctor persona -- it’s very dangerous, Daisy.”

Daisy looks up at her then, something strange crossing her face.

“For him,” Jemma adds hastily. “I don’t think the Doctor is likely to make another appearance without some severe circumstances. You’re safe. But encouraging a fugue state like this is very dangerous for the person experiencing it. When you and May asked him to tap into it to discover what Hale might need Coulson for, you could have initiated a psychic state in which Fitz cannot determine what is real, or triggered an even wider split from which it would take him longer to come back to himself. For a first-time, potentially idiopathic psychic split, this personality already has far more detailed a background than it should, because of his time in the Framework, and--”

“Jemma.” Daisy’s voice is rough, hoarse. “I get it. And I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ll stay away from him.”

Jemma watches as her friend swivels away from her, out from under her hand, back to the monitors, cold and lonely, hurt and sad.

More talking doesn’t seem like it will help. She wants to check on Fitz anyway. She needs to check on Yo-Yo and her new arms. She sighs at Daisy, studiously ignoring her, and stands to leave.

“Jemma,” Daisy says. She turns from the monitors. There are tears in her eyes. In another life, they’d collapse into each other’s arms and sob about all that has happened. In this life, Jemma says nothing, waits. “How.  How is he?”

“He’s sleeping.”

 _"How is he?”_ There’s desperation, there’s need.

Jemma allows some desperation of her own. “He’s afraid.”

 


End file.
